Title
by The Eye of Time
Summary: After beating Mister Marenghi in a court the other day, I can finally release this work; the original author never came up with a title, so title will have to do without. This masterpiece of suspense may be renowned across the world simply because of a silly case put by Mr. Marenghi, but I can assure you it's full-on-classic-agh-ooh-chill-in-your-bottom-suspe nseful-marenghi-horror


_I am not Garth Marenghi. I don't own him either. Nor do I own Garth Marenghi's Darkplace. I merely represent his imagination after using a plunger specially adapted to drain people's minds to drain his mind and absorb this unfinished work, finished in his head…_

_He never got a chance to finish it on paper…_

_Because I published it and destroyed the plunger before he could use it to sue me for plagiarism… I don't see what the big deal is._

A message brought to you by the _official_ author (anonymous for illegal reasons, namely being a criminal on the run… they can trace these things you know)

**Title (Garth Marenghi never came up with one before the plunger incident, so unfortunately, we'll have to do without one)**

_**Uno-chapter**_

Monty Johnson filled his mouth with sand… lots of rough, coarse, dry, yellowish sand… This was because he was hungry. He was also very very very very _very _thirsty. So thirsty in fact, that I had to use five "very"s to get the point across. He was tired in this average sized, hot desert. He was tired, hungry, very etc. thirsty, and found it hard to passed bowels due to an uncomfortable condition known to humans as constipation. Luckily, he was starving, so he couldn't crap much.

"This sand only makes my sore throat sorer. I'll eat it anyway because I'm hungry." Monty kept eating, despite a stomach ache. He then died.

Or so he almost thought (almost because he was unconscious and was having a fantastical dream about French cuisine). Because he woke up again. He looked up into the blue sky. Where was he? What was this place, with such a cloudless blue sky with mildly warm weather? Obviously, not Romford, England.

"I'm in the same place as where I fell unconscious… Is this why fate has brought me here to this desert? To teach me that eating sand is bad for you?"

If I have to spell it out to some idiot reading this, Monty Johnson was an idiot… If he wanted to be dramatic he should have said "Unhealthy", the dunce. Unless of course he wasn't trying to be dramatic, meaning that he may even have an IQ almost as high as mine. A problematic mystery… but as fortune would have it, he's a fictional character of my superb imagination, so I can tell you that he doesn't even know what IQ means (If I have to spell it out to the idiot who still thinks he can read this without being insulted, IQ means _Quick Intelligence_). If this paragraph was to long for you, maybe some of you now realise how much pain I go through when reading publishing contracts.

Monty got to his feet and felt a hard piece of shit fall down his trouser leg. At least severe constipation wasn't wet… then again, if it was wet he'd have something to drink. Then he walked for ages. "Surely now that I've learnt not to munch on sand, fate will lead me to civilisation."

Fate led him to civilisation. But not the civilisation you and I are used to (I'm presuming you're a Brit. If not "But not the civilisation that other Brits and I are used to"). This is because the buildings didn't have pointy roofs due to little rain. Not only that, but the people were civilised. More civilised than the West… then again if you keep going west you end up in the east (this metaphor proves that I am so intelligent, that I am smart enough to outwit even myself).

Monty went up to a stranger [he's an idiot (for those of you who can't tell if I'm talking about Monty or the stranger, I'm assuming you're under four, thus you have rubbish parents for letting you read this, one of the greatest works in horror since_ Slicer_.). Stranger danger].

"Hello. I don't know where I am. Please help me."

"Yes… but first you must tell me what you want help with."

"I want to get home to Romford. There's no place like home; you don't get more rain anywhere else."

(_**Publisher's note: **_This story has stunned the reading world… I think it's because I left that semi-colon in).

"You're in Romford. This is Romford. This utterly destroyed village in the middle of a desert is Romford."

"How can this be." (Don't tell me to put in a question mark… I make my own rules up) Monty asked, panicking. This is because he believed him.

"Perhaps you've used a highly technical, specially adapted plunger to absorb the ideas of the head of NASA or CCCP in order to create a time machine which you used to come here into the future. Then you banged your head and forgot."

"It's plausible… Except there's no questioning that it was CCCP, employed by Stalin to create this time machine to turn this blue planet red."

"I'll send out an expedition to look for the time machine." the stranger boomed. This is because he exploded. Monty was splattered with his (the stranger's for idiots) blood, and his intestines whacked him in the face. In his hungry/thirsty state Monty quickly licked up the remains before asking someone else to send out the expedition.

The villagers gave him water. Unfortunately, he gulped down too much, giving him diarrhoea… a brand new experience for him but wasn't much better than constipation. If you don't take my word for it, try it yourself, and call me when you're done.

The villagers told Monty that they found the time machine but broke it when they accidently dropped it. Now, I can't tell you that they were lying and were actually communist zombies yet, because that would be a massive spoiler. This made him depressed. Not many people like being depressed so Monty snogged some random stranger; he, she, it, anyone/anything. The floor of the hotel was still; just how he likes them.

Cheered up, Monty strutted up to the hotel reception and said with his head held high "I want a duvet for the floor and I."

The red faced receptionist nodded slightly. With his red face, bulging black eyes and shaky hands he must've been fit to explode; which he did. (_**Publisher's note: **_Did you see that!? Another semi-colon!) "Two people have exploded in the same hour." Monty pondered on the problematic problem. "More than usual. Something odd is happening. Curry? Or is it something more sinister?" He turned to a passing hotel maid. "You might have to clear him up."

The maid smacked her lips, with her hand, as Monty walked past. He'd have to do without the duvet.

"Hey." A woman came up to Monty and pointed discreetly to the left. "Check out that guy's big ugly mug." As she said it, a young handsome teenager walked by with his coffee. "He's taking it into the swimming pool. Suspicious, niet… I mean no?"

"Yes, do you think he's making curry?"

"He just ate a korma."

"Then it's just as I feared… we must stop him before anyone eats it."

"Let's eat him."

"You sound like a soviet." Monty turned to him

"You sound like a Nazi." The stranger replied.

"Why do you say that?"

"You don't like me."

"Fine, I'm a Nazi!" Monty exclaimed.

"No you're not."

"You're right, I'm not." They stared into each other's eyes. _Is she the one? _Monty thought. _She looks better than the floor. _They grew closer and the pair of them began to sweat. Monty closed his eyes. He could see it now. Marriage, children, one of them falling to his or preferably her death on a family climb of Mount Everest. Yes. She was the one.

He… he loved her so…

"I'm a communist zombie!" the stranger screeched, before biting Monty.

_**To Be Continued (Probably in the second chapter).**_

**Reviews**

_**The Daily Crap: **__"An unbelievable read"_

_**Woman's Wheatly: **__"We now know of this one's abilities"_

_**Men's Motors: **__"The sheer inexperience of the author drives you on"_

_**The Daily Day: **__"My 9 year old daughter couldn't put it down"_

_**Garth Marenghi: **__"I thoroughly recommend this for shop-keeping experience._


End file.
